


metanoia

by piyo_nii



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Birthday Blowjob, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Fic, Kurapika Speaks Esperanto, M/M, PWP, Post-Canon, Self-Indulgent, literally what is plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 04:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piyo_nii/pseuds/piyo_nii
Summary: Because healing is a journey and their story is a map, and sometimes Kurapika gets lost whenever he tries to push the pin to remember when he fell in love.A gift fic for the lovely kloffel! Happy birthday! ♥





	metanoia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kloffel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kloffel).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, [@kloffel](https://twitter.com/kloffel)!!! I'm sorry this is late, but I'm a dumb slowpoke ack ;;;;
> 
> Warnings: Extremely self-indulgent and Google-Translated Esperanto.
> 
> This fic accompanies a small comic by **[@hxh_sui](https://twitter.com/hxh_sui/status/1018635433432010752)** on Twitter!!!

It’s one in the morning when he finishes his paperwork. In the dead of night, when Swaldani’s bustling streets slow to a crawl and he’s all alone with his thoughts, he wonders.

Up until a few months ago, his life had revolved around wrath and vengeance and anything but himself. He was in the dark with matches, searching for something he thought he had lost when he was a twelve-year-old boy, burying his grandmother and his cousin and his father in the fields behind their shared hut.

But things are different now, because Kuroro has a penchant for flipping his world upside-down through the unlikeliest of ways, and Kurapika still can’t explain how they went from plotting each other’s demises to exchanging clandestine kisses in some musty janitorial closet on Tier 2.

As he exits the elevator, Kurapika catches his reflection in a window. His hair’s all messed up and his tie hangs loosely around his neck, but his eyes no longer sink into his skull and speak of death. It’s a start, he thinks. A small one, but Kurapika’s tired of pretending like he’s Atlas, bowing under the weight of his guilt.

The walk to his hotel is a short one. Kurapika swipes his keycard and stumbles into his suite. He’s toeing out of his shoes and tossing his blazer to the side when a quiet cough seizes his attention.

“What…” Kurapika manages to say after a moment, and he can’t help but blink dumbly because Kuroro is sitting on his bed with an inconspicuous white box in his lap, smiling like he’s pleased with himself. “What is that?”

If his bluntness bothered Kuroro in any capacity, it doesn't show. “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Can’t say I’m surprised.” Kuroro shifts slightly to the side, revealing a plastic bag that’s wedged between his thigh and a pillow. When Kurapika moves to examine its contents, he shoots Kuroro another confused frown because he’s still not making any sense. Kuroro’s always been kind of odd, but if an unopened bag of balloons, four cups of caramel pudding, and a lighter were supposed to be code for something, Kurapika wasn’t picking up on it.

And perhaps the implications were obvious, but it’s late and he’s exhausted and Kuroro isn’t helping one bit by looking as inviting as he is, comfortable and casual in his fleece sleepwear.

“I don’t—?”

Kuroro takes this opportunity to open the box. Inside is a modest store-bought cake, slightly disfigured from handling, but Kurapika doesn’t comment since he’s too busy reading the words that are iced in an incredibly tacky shade of red.

Kurapika doesn’t flinch when Kuroro leans over to plant a soft kiss against his hairline. “Happy birthday, Kurapika.”

“—Oh.” is Kurapika’s brilliant response, because the cake has definitely seen better days, not to mention he doesn’t even _like_ sweets. But Kuroro’s got this pull to him that Kurapika’s never learned to defend himself from, and the content little smile on his face is enough to shut him up.

Kurapika’s iron resolve crumbles to dust when Kuroro sets the box aside and pulls him forward, situating him between his spread legs. Kuroro’s looking up at him through dark lashes, and Kurapika can’t help but notice how his lips are so close, too far. “It’s a bit too late to be eating cake, don’t you think?” Kurapika asks, mouth suddenly dry.

“We can save it for tomorrow,” Kuroro murmurs, already reaching towards the buttons on his dress shirt. He’s popping them open one by one, and each newly-exposed inch of skin gets its own quick, sweltering kiss. Kurapika feels like he should be immune to his touches by now, but his knees are growing weak, and there’s this all-too-familiar heat pooling in his stomach that tells him otherwise. Once his shirt is completely unbuttoned, Kuroro takes a second to rake his hands up Kurapika’s sides before sliding the fabric off his shoulders. “Tomorrow,” he repeats, hooking the back of Kurapika’s thighs to force him atop his lap, and when Kuroro’s wanting mouth finds the crook of his neck, all it takes is one harsh suck, hard enough to bruise and he’s _gone._

“Kuroro, hold on,” Kurapika forcibly chokes out, because Kuroro is still fully-clothed while he’s shirtless and gasping for air, but it’s just so damn hard to think when Kuroro’s tongue laps at his skin like a man dying of thirst, and _why are his pants still on?_ “What about—?”

He’s silenced with a harsh, breath-stealing, teeth-clacking kiss, it’s rough and it’s messy and it’s _absolutely divine._ “This is your day. Let me take care of you,” Kuroro says as he licks the shell of his ear, caresses the small of his back. Kurapika almost wants to assert that he doesn’t need to be taken care of like some petulant child, but with their hips flush just like this, Kuroro’s need straining against his sweats, pressing into the cleft of Kurapika’s ass, he’s not sure if he can trust himself to speak coherently anymore.

And there’s something incredibly profound in the way Kuroro gently flips him over so that his back is pressed against cool sheets. Maybe it’s the way Kuroro’s lips ghost over his sweaty skin like an unvoiced prayer, or maybe it’s the way he pays special attention to the scars that mark his body. Regardless, Kurapika finds himself wanting, needing more, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before Kuroro delivers.

Kurapika vaguely registers Kuroro’s deft fingers undoing the clasp of his belt. He’s boneless when Kuroro divests him of his trousers and boxers with one fell swoop.

“The cake is a formality,” Kuroro admits, chuckling against Kurapika’s inner thigh. “I hope my real gift doesn’t disappoint.”

“You never do,” Kurapika breathes out, and he doesn’t stop to think about how the softest of accents punctuate his words. Something flashes in Kuroro’s eyes, though, and his chest’s flooded with an emotion he can’t name when Kuroro kisses him again.

There’s this thinly-veiled desperation in his touches that makes itself known through his trembling fingers. “You’re so _goddamn—_ ” Kuroro latches onto Kurapika’s nipple, worships it with a hard suck, and Kurapika throws his head back, eyes glowing scarlet, mouth open in a silent cry.

When Kurapika’s sure his heart won’t burst through his ribcage, he allows his gaze to trail back downwards to drink in the sight: Kuroro eyeing his naked form appreciatively, raven locks disheveled beyond help, lips glistening with saliva. He watches as Kuroro reaches towards his weeping cock, and Kurapika has to suppress another moan when it’s enveloped in his hot palm.

“I’ve got you,” Kuroro coos, stroking Kurapika with a careful languidness. His hand’s moving up and down, pressure fluctuating from the base to the tip, and the stare he’s got Kurapika under makes him dizzy, makes him burn. Kuroro’s unraveling Kurapika like a spool of tightly-wound twine and he’s helpless against the tidal wave, powerless as Kuroro’s thumb swipes the head of his need, smearing precum on his digits, slickening his grasp.

It’s maddening and it’s bliss, and it’s just not enough. “Ku...roro…!” Kurapika is chipped porcelain and Kuroro’s forcing him towards his breaking point, but he doesn’t want to come like this, doesn’t want it to end so soon. “Kuro— _hah!_ ”

He doesn’t have much of a warning before Kuroro ducks to run his tongue down Kurapika’s length. It should have embarrassed him, but Kurapika’s legs are subconsciously widening, inviting Kuroro to come closer, and there’s nothing he wants more than to feel the velvet that’s Kuroro’s mouth wrapped around his cock.

“Kuroro, _pli…_ ” Kurapika’s being reduced to a babbling mess, but his mind’s completely shot and Kuroro is holding down his hips with one arm while fondling his balls with his free hand, and he can’t—he _doesn’t care_ about how wanton he must look, face flushed, lips swollen, scarlet eyes shining with unshed tears because it’s so, so good. And—Gods, the way Kuroro purposefully flicks the tip of his tongue over the slit before sucking teasingly on the entire head, it’s almost enough to drive him insane.

Kuroro suddenly pulls back entirely, and when Kurapika can’t feel his hot pants against his inner thigh, he searches for Kuroro with bleary eyes—

_“Ĝuste tiel…!”_

—Only to shut them in ecstasy as Kuroro takes in as much as he can, until the head of his cock is hitting the back of his throat and Kurapika’s quivering, aching for Kuroro. He loses himself in the wet heat, in the vibration of Kuroro’s hums as he moans around his length, in the electric tingles that shoot from his fingers to his toes. Kuroro venerates his body like it’s something sacred, and Kurapika can’t help but wonder if he’s truly deserving of a fate so sweet.

He’s whispering prayers to ears that will never understand, but the fact of the matter is that he’s falling, fast and hard, and he won’t last much longer like this, with Kuroro swallowing around his erection and watching him with a fondness so deep, it’s almost frightening.

Kuroro calls for Kurapika’s attention without uttering a single word. He hollows his cheeks, swollen lips glistening so prettily, a silent request for Kurapika to come.

And he’s close, because Kuroro’s ministrations and the heady scent of their sins and the love in his eyes are proving to be too much, and Kurapika’s ready to let go. So when the magma in his gut threatens to overflow, Kurapika tugs on his hair in a last-ditch effort to warn him. But there’s a smile in his greys and Kuroro keeps going, keeps bobbing his head up and down and swirling his tongue around, and Kurapika’s breathy moans escalate into something more powerful because he’s so, so close to drowning—

A simple press of his tongue against the underside of his cock is what does him in.

Kurapika arches his back with a choked cry, spilling into Kuroro’s willing mouth, and his body feels so tight and hot, he nearly has to remind himself to breathe. But Kuroro grasps his hand, grounding him to the earth before he soars into the clouds as he experiences what can only be a small and beautiful death.

Kurapika’s limbs are jelly as Kuroro rises, and he can’t help but blush as Kuroro makes a show of swallowing his come.

“That was completely unnecessary,” Kurapika remarks with a frown.

Kuroro laughs, light and easy. “Oh, please. You enjoyed it.”

Kurapika simply huffs and turns on his side because he’d rather die than admit that he’s right.

And this probably isn’t a good idea because the clock is inching towards three and Cheadle wants him back in less than four hours, but with Kuroro pressed up against his back, burying his face into his shoulder, Kurapika doesn’t think twice before he straddles him by the waist.

Because in the dead of night, when Swaldani’s bustling streets slow to a crawl and he’s all alone with his thoughts, he wonders.

Kurapika is stubborn and irritable and he probably doesn’t have a lot of time left. He’s done a lot to push Kuroro away, and there are occasions where he thinks he’s beyond redemption.

But Kuroro doesn’t seem to believe so, and maybe that’s what really counts.

Because healing is a journey and their story is a map, and sometimes Kurapika gets lost whenever he tries to push the pin to remember when he fell in love.

“Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” There's a playful type of accusation in his eyes, but Kuroro's hands slide to rest on Kurapika's hips, anyway.

“You’ve already made me stay up this late,” Kurapika retorts, admiring how the moonlight washes over Kuroro. “And I owe you one.”

The grin Kuroro beams at him is blinding.

**Author's Note:**

>  _"Pli"_ \- "More"  
>  _“Ĝuste tiel”_ \- "Just so"
> 
> So, why the Esperanto? Well, Chocoholic221B and I thought it would fit because "Lukso" apparently means "Luxury" in Esperanto, so why not pretend like it's the Kurtan Language hahahaha-
> 
> ehjkfjksnfkj I'm not very happy with how this came out, but I did what I could before the day was up, ahhh!!! //////
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you wanna talk, feel free to find me on **[Tumblr](http://piyo-nii.tumblr.com/) | [FFN](https://www.fanfiction.net/~piyonii) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/piyo_niiii) | [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/piyo_niiii)**


End file.
